Gunny Gibbs and the Gibblets
by Dixie Dewdrop
Summary: There is just something about his team that brings out a protective streak in the Marine, no matter how hard he tries not to divulge it. This is part of my Here and Now scenario.
1. Watch Over

Watch Over

"I answer no," Doctor Donald Mallard announced stubbornly, crossing his arms across his chest defiantly. Dressed in blue scrubs, he did appear an imposing figure.

For clarification he added, "An emphatic no-"

"No?" Jethro Gibbs responded, taken aback at his friend's insistence that he go nowhere. Rarely did his buddy contradict him or stand in his way.

"No," Ducky repeated. "No most assuredly means no, and I refuse to discuss this with you further. Really, Jethro, I am actually extending help your way. You are in dire need of it."

Annoyed and not certain how to proceed, Gibbs raked his hand through his hair and gave the good doctor his most incredulous look. "Ducky, you will sabotage this whole case by not clearing me!"

The physician in question squared his shoulders and adjusted his glasses. "Save the glare for your team, Jethro. I refuse to change my mind. Now, once again, you may not leave this agency for at least six hours, until the painkiller I administered leaves your system. Consider that final. Find something to keep you occupied until morning and do not visit me again in the next few hours. I mean it."

With that, the good doctor pointed decisively towards the automatic doors.

Gibbs opened his mouth to speak, then spun around and headed to the elevator.

Ducky had trumped him.

Inside the lift chamber he massaged the knee he had managed to twist once again during a chase earlier in the evening, a pull rough enough to elicit a painkiller from Dr. Mallard.

Stepping off at his floor he regarded the vacant desks of his team with surprise. He had left them half an hour before to go downstairs to Ducky, and had cautioned that no one was to leave NCIS. He planned a surprise visit to their current bad guy suspect's place of work as soon as the plant opened in the morning.

From experience he knew better than to let them go home with promises to return.

No, they would spend the night, or what was left of it, at NCIS.

Jethro headed to Abby's lab next, intending to thank her for coming back to work a little after midnight. However, with the exception of the refrigeration unit's light, the forensics area was dark.

Abby did not materialize.

Carefully softening his footsteps, he crept into the scientist's inner office to investigate. As he neared her desk he discovered his missing team members- all of them- sprawled sound asleep on the floor of her lab. Abby and Tony slept side by side, while Kate and Tim slept on either side of the two, but at a distance of six feet or so.

They looked peaceful, and he shook his head at how deeply they slept. He did not begrudge them the rest. They had outdone themselves during the day, and upon his orders, had buckled in for additional night hours.

They could do nothing further until morning.

Gibbs sank down gratefully in Abby's desk chair, and with a grimace, lifted his leg and wounded knee to prop on top of the desk.

His knee throbbed.

Ducky's painkiller would kick in soon, though.

Assessing the current state of his team once again, he decided he needed to take care of them first by letting them get some rest. Tilting back in the chair, he closed his eyes and assured himself they would deal with the dirtbag suspect in the morning.

**With two, three, four, and five echoing in his thinking, Gunny Jethro Gibbs paused at the top of the landing to take a deep breath. To say exhaustion gripped him clearly understated the current condition of his life.**

He pinched the bridge of his nose, straightened his shoulders, and approached the bedroom shared by his boys, the three and five of his two, three, four, and five year old progeny.

Tim, his three year old, lay perfectly in place where his father had tucked him earlier in the evening. A tow head, he sported the lightest hair of any of the kids.

Timid and self conscious by nature, he played well by himself and tended to let his siblings overshadow him.

Gibbs leaned over the bedrail- which the little boy tearfully begged his father not to remove any time it arose in discussion- and smoothed the boy's silky bangs.

Tim would always join the fringes of the crowd as a late bloomer.

Straightening, he crossed to his oldest's bed. As opposed to his brother's perfectly- in- place position, Tony lay sprawled across the mattress, covers bunched over, around, and beneath him. His brown hair, liberally sprinkled with blond, stood up where the little boy rested his arm across his forehead.

At five, Tony took his role as the oldest, and as big brother, very seriously, and he protected the others.

A daredevil and natural athlete, he craved action and excitement, and displayed a sharp wit and a sense of humour.

Gibbs took the time to reposition the child and marveled at the little boy's striking looks. Jethro had already experienced five years of admirers complimenting the boy on his long lashed green eyes and natural attractiveness, yet still found himself taken aback at times.

Moving softly so as not to awaken the two, he crossed the hall to the bedroom where his girls, Abby and Kate, slept.

At four, his Katie already displayed a natural poise which highlighted her innate grace. Jethro leaned against the doorway and regarded her, asleep on her side and curled into an S shape. Her dark hair fanned out over the pillow, and he noted her slender hands clasped underneath one cheek.

He privately thought she would grow up and choose the law as a profession, an obvious supposition because of her penchant for analyzing situations, emotions, and behaviors. She loved any opportunity to show off responsible conduct, and tended to boss her brothers and sister, sometimes successfully.

Moving to the bedside he smiled at the contents on her bedside table- pretend make up and a brush, a mirror and some plastic jewelry.

Pulling the spread over her shoulder, he smoothed it before kissing her softly on the cheek.

Turning, he trained his gaze in a panoramic view of the room, eventually pinpointing the whereabouts of his baby, two year old Abby. The family crib, a bit battered from four Gibblet offspring and with Tony's tiny teethmarks embedded into several of the rails, served as Baby Abby's bed now.

He discovered her under the crib, however, the third time in the past week.

Stooping down, he marveled at her fortitude and determination. She had evidently managed to crawl over the crib's bed rail and scale her way to the floor, plushad hauled selected belongings with her.

It amazed him that she could have managed all of this without alerting him. Then again, though just two, his tiny girl possessed a ready smile, a loving and generous personality, and a stubborn streak which surfaced when she felt wronged.

She was a girlie girl, very much into pretty adornments, dresses, and hair ornaments, and considered everyone a potential friend. Like Tony, she loved cuddling and was very affectionate.

Tonight she had on her favorite nightgown, a long white one with yellow flowers adorning the sleeve cuffs and the hem, and her dark hair- just long enough now to pass her chin, fell softly on her pillow.

Abby not only had centered herself under the crib, but had lined the entire area of the rectangular space with her baby blankets. Further, she had dragged her stuffed animals into the space, too, reminding Gibbs of the scene in _ET _where the alien hides amidst the stuffed toys.

Why she wanted to stay in such a confined space eluded him.

She had the whole bedroom in which to relocate.

Why find the most confining area?

On the plus side, perhaps as an adult she would not suffer from claustrophobia.

He started to pull her out and settle her back in the crib but worried that he would wake her if he did. It concerned him that she would hit her head on the crib's frame if she sat up all the way.

Resigned, he left her where she lay, thumb dangling from her little rosebud mouth.


	2. Shield

Shield

Retreating to the demands of single parenting, he headed downstairs to finish the load of laundry he had placed in the dryer. Standing in front of the open dryer door with the residual heat wafting around him, he folded small overalls and shirts for Tim, sturdy jeans and corduroys for Tony, hung dresses for his girls, and sorted nighties and pajamas for all four.

Victoria Mallard had tried to instruct him in the proper sorting of clothes, and which to wash en masse, but he found it easier to just throw in items until he filled the machine.

The current load did not look too bad.

Reaching into the bowels of the dryer one final time he pulled out a solitary white sock with lace, probably Katie's. Peeping back inside the unit confirmed that no mate hid against the drum.

Sighing in annoyance, he threw it into the overhead bin where dozens of unmatched socks resided. One day, he had assured himself more than once, one day when he had time he would pull them down to sort and match them.

Heading to the kitchen he paused to pour a fresh cup of coffee before unloading the dishwasher. Crammed full, it took almost ten minutes to empty the racks, and then an extra two to pry out the tiny kiddie fork which had lodged itself down by the drain. By the time he slammed it shut he had managed to curse, more than once, and to cut the side of his pinky finger.

Shaking his hand in irritation he moved to the living room and tackled some minor straightening there. The kids had all picked up their toys and put them in their toychests, as per his orders, but something always needed addressing. He thought longingly of the basement, just a floor below, where he could go to unwind, drink a shot of Jack, and work for a few minutes on his latest wood project!

When he finally straightened up and stretched, the clock told him it was nearly eleven. Cutting off the light from the lamp he mumbled to himself, "No, no playtime tonight. Tonight it is late and the kids will be up early. I need a shower. Bed- I need bed, too."

Tiredly he made his way up the steps, pausing in both doorways to assure himself that his children still slept. Taking a closer look at Tim he rethought his plan and crept into the room. Tim had scooted to the edge by the rail, and as Gibbs suspected, had wet the bed.

He got the sheets stripped and changed, Tim stripped, taken to the bathroom and changed, and then put back in bed, without the little boy fully waking.

Glancing over at Tony after all of that, he saw that his oldest slept soundly still.

Wearily he made his way to the shower and then to bed, falling into the pillows with exhaustion.

Cries of "Daddy, Daddy!" coming from the girls' room yanked him from sleep a couple of hours later. Before even coming fully awake he vaulted from his bed and raced to the call.

Kate, arms outstretched for him to hold her, cried urgently, "Daddy, I think my tummy's going to be sick. I feel bad!"

He swooped her up and ran his fingers appraisingly across her forehead. It was hot, and he felt his stomach tighten.

"Daddy!" she warned, and he bolted towards the bathroom. They had just made it through the doorway- not far enough- before she vomited.

He managed to grab her hair out of the way and lean her towards the toilet in time, but by the time she finished they both had been splattered. When he felt she had finished he sat her on the lavatory cabinet and gently washed off her face with a cloth as she cried, miserable and unhappy.

He left to grab a clean nightgown but Kate did not even move from her spot. She held out her arms for him to hold her. Speaking soothingly he pulled off the soiled nightclothes and shimmied the clean gown over her.

Before she brushed her teeth he took her temperature and had her take a dose of the fever medication he kept for his kids.

Finally he set her on the toilet and left her to use the bathroom while he ran into his room and stripped off his own sodden shirt. Changing quickly, he returned and carried her back to her room, but she began crying in earnest then, protesting, and begged to stay with him.

Acquiescing, he turned direction and an exhausted Jethro tucked her in his bed and then snuggled beside her. The medicine, thankfully, took hold within minutes and she fell asleep. Gibbs, turned on his side, gazed down at her head nestled in the crook of his arm and her little hands clutched in his shirt.

Poor little girl-

Hopefully this resulted from a tummy virus and all would be well within hours. He had the next two days off from the agency, so luckily, he would not have to miss time from work.

It did not take long before he drifted back to sleep, but he jolted to consciousness when he felt the covers shifting off of Katie and him and to the floor below.

Reaching blindly to stop their descent he encountered a tiny body, and flipped over to find Abby using the covers as a ladder to climb onto the bed.

She wanted her father.

Wrapping an arm around her he yanked her up at the same time that he struggled to prop against the headboard. Her bottom lip quivered, and she did not have to utter a sound before his stomach lurched. One good look at her face and he could see that Katie was not the only casualty.

Savvy after four children he yanked Abby to him, kicked off the sheet, bolted from the bed, and raced to the master bathroom.

Using the tub as a bench and sitting down quickly, Jethro held back his baby's soft hair, and leaned her over the toilet.

Luckily, he made it just in the nick of time, because like Kate, his baby's stomach revolted.

Gently cleaning Abby's face moments later while she cried softly, he felt the fever actually radiating from her little body. Hurriedly he dosed her with medicine as well, no easy feat because she had her arms wrapped around his neck and refused to turn loose.

Patiently he tilted her chin up and spooned the pink liquid down her throat, keeping her head back long enough to make sure she swallowed.

If all went well, neither of the girls would suffer another bout of nausea before the fever reducer took hold.

Abby moaned miserably, and he nuzzled his cheek against hers, murmured soothing words, and kissed her softly.

Settling her beside her sister in his bed, he stroked her hair and face until she fell asleep, thumb firmly in her mouth.

He slid off the mattress and draped both girls with cover.

Always the investigator, he rubbed his hand impatiently through his hair. Common sense told him that if the girls had picked up something, the boys would have, as well.

Straightening his shoulders and trying to unkink the knots in his neck muscles, he crossed the hall and went to Tony first.

His instinct proved correct, and he hurriedly gathered him, then Tim, and slid them into bed beside their sisters.

The rest of the long night passed by with the gunny falling into a routine of anticipating which child straddled the brink of nausea, marathon sprints to the bathroom, pajama changes, and the consoling wiping away of tears.

By the time dawn broke he had downed a carafe of coffee and felt both emotionally and physically drained.

God bless Ducky- the good doctor did not even hesitate when phoned, and came through the front door with a cheerful greeting and appraising look at his friend's demeanor.

"Sit down in the kitchen," he ordered Jethro, pointing towards the doorway. "Just sit and rest a few minutes until I finish examining your home team."

Jethro obeyed without an argument, too tired to speak, and with a grin Dr. Mallard ascended to the upper floor.

It did not take the weary father more than a few seconds before he gratefully sank into a kitchen chair.

Twenty minutes later Ducky returned and delivered his verdict- the flu. All four pre-schoolers had full blown cases, and the next few days would prove miserable ones for them.


	3. Tend

Tend

Gibbs absorbed the news and tried to clear his sleep deprived brain to think ahead at how best to tackle the crisis.

Ducky regarded him with sympathy and sat down across the table.

"First, I took the liberty of calling Mother when I was upstairs, Jethro. She will join us here shortly, so you now have reinforcements to help you."

Jethro smiled softly, "Duck, I can not destroy your weekend, or Mrs. Mallard's weekend. Those four upstairs belong to me, and my responsibility lies in their well being. You have helped me out enormously by making the house call and diagnosis. I appreciate the kindness, but I will manage."

Despite his jovial nature and gentle approach, Donald Mallard possessed his own stubborn streak.

"Dear man, I do not think you understand that options do not belong to you, but exist in my hands. As a physician, I have the right to know more than you, no matter how savvy you feel you are. Now, let me address the first order of business. You will make your way to the living room sofa where you will lie down for a much needed nap. I will tend the wounded until you awake and resume your fatherly vigil."

Though exhaustion permeated every cell of his body, Jethro still attempted to argue. "Ducky, I…"

Ducky pointed towards the ceiling. "Go, Jethro, right now. You are in no condition to run up and down stairs right this moment. Rebuild your strength because those four babies will demand their daddy soon."

Ducky's logic trumped his own.

Though still reluctant, the exhausted father complied, falling asleep just moments after he lay down on the couch.

He awoke in a panic, though, when he sat up and realized that from the sun outside the windows he had slept until early afternoon.

How in the world could he have shortchanged his kids?

They needed him!

Hurrying to his feet he ducked into the downstairs bath to splash his face with water.

A clear head would help him figure out his next step.

The unexpected sound of singing from the kitchen interrupted his plan, and he jogged to the source.

Victoria Mallard greeted him cheerfully, and pushed the coffee pot's on button as soon as she saw him. She gestured towards the table.

"Sit down, now, and get something in your stomach before you head upstairs. You need to be on your game, and as an experienced parent I can assure you that you need to take care of yourself first. Donald and I have the children covered."

With a small grin, Gibbs voiced his thanks, and gratefully accepted the sandwich and fruit she set before him.

Halfway through his meal Ducky joined them downstairs, juggling a tray with four small glasses and four small soup bowls.

"You look much better," he assessed the father, greeting him while rinsing the dishes at the sink before loading the dishwasher. "The children have all drunk ginger ale and have managed to keep down bowls of chicken broth. You finish your meal before joining them."

Gibbs nodded and picked up his sandwich for another bite. "Gotcha, Duck."

"They have broth now, but the next bowls will have some rice in the broth. As they get better they will be able to tolerate a mite more." Mrs. Mallard elaborated.

"Actually," Ducky's eyes twinkled, "young Anthony already clamors for seconds, but I refuse to allow that until I have confidence that he can keep down the broth."

Gibbs laughed for the first time in many hours. "My son's appetite defies all odds. He is quite the connoisseur."

"We know, Jethro," Victoria agreed. "Now you have permission to go check them with your own eyes. I can see you want to assure yourself of their welfare and comfort them."

Ducky added reassuringly as Jethro stood, "I just administered doses of medicine, so all four of them will nap shortly."

Jethro climbed the stairs and moved from the hall to his bedroom. Abby, snuggled next to Tony, slept with her head on his stomach. Gibbs leaned down and kissed her forehead, then smoothed back his son's bangs and kissed him as well.

Tony smiled a gap toothed grin and held out his arms for a hug. "I'm taking care of them, Daddy. I have the situation under control for you."

Gibbs caught his breath and pulled the little boy against him. "I know I can always depend on you, Son, but now your father wants to take care of you while you are taking care of them."

Tim and Kate slept also, with Timmy posed on exactly a quarter of the mattress, his personal space in the bed. Gibbs leaned over and pulled up the cover enough to assure himself that his little boy had not wet the bed.

Kate had curled into almost a ball, commandeering part of Timmy's space, and slept facing the windows.

Adjusting Abby so that her head lay on one of the pillows, Tony climbed over her and raised his arms to his father.

Gibbs swung him to sit on his hip, then walked slowly around the periphery of the bedroom for several minutes. He spoke soothingly and held Tony securely against him. When he finally felt the child relax, he returned to the bed, lay his sleeping son down gently, and covered him before tiptoeing from the room.

Downstairs again he thanked both Mallards for their time and help, which they brushed off and insisted was what friends did for friends.

They left shortly afterwards, ordering him to call if he needed help, and Ducky promised to make another medical visit later in the day.

Gibbs watched them depart and leaned for a minute against the front door of his home, thinking of the past hours. God had sent him help at a time he desperately needed it.

Back inside he realized that Victoria had stripped the beds from his progeny's restless nights. Both bedrooms now looked far different than from the night before, with freshly made beds and soiled nightclothes washed and folded.

Another check of the kids assured him that they all slept soundly.

His military training kicked into high gear as he prepared for the onslaught of the next couple of days. Thanks to Victoria, he had the next meals for his invalids ready to serve, but he busied himself setting up trays, clean nightclothes, empty glasses ready to fill with ginger ale, and medicine dosages measured and ready to administer.

Further, he called NCIS and informed the Director that he would have to work from home for the next few days. A messenger arrived a couple of hours later with a set of cold case files Jethro could study while nursing his children and confined at home.

It took an additional two days before a real change appeared in the kids, and they began to truly recover. Tony clamored to get up and enjoy some entertainment, though the other three played contentedly in the bed with a couple of toys each.

He gave in to his oldest and allowed him downstairs, but refused to let him head outside, despite Tony's impassioned pleas and frustrated tears. Finally, though, his oldest sat on the sofa raptly watching the television, following the Duke- the one and only John Wayne- through another Western adventure. For good measure Gibbs placed a trash can near him, should he get sick. It proved extraneous, and Tony had turned the corner to getting well.

**The gunny felt Tony shaking him awake, speaking urgently to his boss as he did so. Reluctantly, Jethro opened his eyes to regard his senior field agent. He blinked in confusion.**

Tony perched on the edge of the desk, smiling sympathetically. "Boss," he explained, "sorry to wake you, but it just struck zero six hundred. We need to get on the move if we still plan to surprise Humphries at his workplace."

Nodding his agreement and wiping his mouth, Gibbs carefully lowered his propped leg to the floor and waited for the resultant pins and needles response to subside.

Glancing around the area, he focused on Tim, Kate, and Abby long enough to see that they still slept peacefully.

"Come here," he ordered Tony, motioning with a hand.

The younger agent obeyed. Without preamble, Gibbs reached over and placed his palm on the younger man's forehead.

Sighing, he felt the relief cover him. There was no fever.

"You okay, Boss?" Tony asked in concern, suddenly confused with Jethro's actions.

Gibbs shook his head slowly and grinned to reassure him. "Fine- I am fine, Tony, just had a really vivid dream about being a gunny."


End file.
